


When You Walked In

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom
Genre: Cock & Ball Torture, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #6: Pete/Taylor Swift, boys only want love if it's torture</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Walked In

Pete follows Taylor into her house trying not to look like he’s gawking. He’s pretty sure he’s failing given the sly smile she’s wearing. 

He shouldn’t be this awed. He’s a rock star. He was married to a pop singer-slash-actress. He was almost brother-in-law to Tony Romo. He knows money. He knows fame.

Of course, this is Taylor fucking Swift, who is an entirely different stratosphere level of fame that makes him look more like Oliver Twist than someone with his own share of platinum records.

Pete’s pretty sure she’s getting off on it.

Which is actually okay, because he knows he _definitely_ is.

She leads him into the other room which requires them to walk down a hall that is dimly lit. It’s probably for the best because the gold and the platinum would likely blind him. He’s pretty sure most of his commemorative records are in a closet somewhere, and not just because he and Meagan moved recently. Fame’s a double-edged sword and Pete’s been cut one too many times.

“It’s funny.”

Pete nearly walks into Taylor. She’s stopped at the end of the hallway and turned to look back at him. “It is? What is? Um.”

“This.” She gestures at the records. “I only have them up because that’s what people expect. Don’t get me wrong, I’m super appreciative of my fans. I owe them everything. But why do I have them up here, you know? I have tumblr if I need a reminder that I’m loved.”

“And hated.”

“Yeah. That too.” She smiles and it’s a real smile this time. It’s a little unnerving for Pete to realize he could totally get off on that too. “You’re like the original social media scapegoat.”

“I was just one of the other kids on there who didn’t ever really think anyone would pay attention to anything he said and then someone did. Internet never forgets.”

“No. Which is good, in case I lose track of which hearts I’ve broken along the line. Though, wait, I just have to look at my discography, right?”

“People are dicks. Not fans. I mean, they can be, but for the most part they’re not. Media people are dicks. Need a hook, need an angle. I mean, fuck, Richie Valens wrote a song called Donna about his girlfriend Donna. I mean, at least I’m somewhat subtle.” Pete laughs at her look. “Okay, well, subtler. Sort of.”

“Not even close.” Taylor sits on the sofa, sprawling her legs out in front of her. Pete looks around and then sits next to her. This is the weird moment where he has to figure out if they’re having a shop talk kind of thing – which really should involve Patrick? Maybe? - or if this is a different thing. If the look in her eye when she said, ‘you should come home with me to talk about some stuff’ was business or if it was the sly smile when they walked in.

Great, now he’s got that damn song in his head. 

“Everyone tells me how nice you are.”

“Ditto.” Pete grins. 

“Are you though?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not. I’m human. The problem is that we’re human in the spotlight which doesn’t go off. So everything we do is analyzed and overanalyzed and ascribed motives. We don’t have friends, we have friends in quotes. We’re either fighting or fucking anyone we’re seen with.”

“Or both.”

“A lot of times both for me. People think that I’m a glutton for punishment.”

Taylor tilts her head and Pete’s beginning to wonder if she’s mapped out all the strategic angles of the room because her eyes seem to glint a dangerous blue. “Are you?”

Pete takes two tries to manage the swallow. “Pardon?”

She just smiles and stands up and Pete watcher her with wide eyes. She gets to the door and looks over her shoulder, crooking her finger at him. Pete’s pretty sure he’s fallen asleep and is dreaming at this point. Either way, he’s not about to tell Taylor Swift no. 

Pete gets off the couch and follows her. The hallway’s just as intimidating on the way back, even though they only make it halfway down before she stops at a door. He stops a few steps short and he feels trapped. And turned on.

Taylor opens the door and nods and Pete steps around her to go inside. She shuts the door behind her, but doesn’t turn on the light. Pete can’t see anything so he doesn’t move any further. The last thing he needs to do is act like he’s in a Three Stooges movie and fall on his ass. Or his face. 

Taylor’s hands settle on his hips and Pete closes his eyes. She’s taller than him. He’d say not by much, but she’s wearing heels that he thinks might be taller than his kid. He lets go of his breath and it comes out shuddering. “Um.”

“Nervous?”

“Y-yeah. And really confused.”

“Confused?”

“I’m...not your type? With someone? Um... _me_?”

“I think you’ll like it.” 

“I’m sure I will, I just...” Pete cuts off as she sinks her teeth into the meat of his shoulder. It’s not in a creepy vampire way, just a ‘shut up and pay attention’ way. Pete’s cock jerks, definitely at attention. “Oh.”

“Do you know what I like best about boys?”

“Not.” His voice breaks, and Pete has to swallow a few times before he can actually talk. “Um, not really?”

“You break so easily.” Before he can process it, Taylor’s hand is on the side of his head and she pushes it, bending it to the side. Pete feels the twinge in his neck in the split second before she bites him again, avoiding his shirt this time and actually sinking her teeth into his flesh. His knees give way and he drops to the floor. He feels the pressure of a high heel against his back and lets her guide him to the floor.

He lays there breathing hard as she shifts her weight and stands on his back. The heel is on his spine and he can feel the rubber bottom digging into his skin. Her other shoe is on the curve of his shoulder, but it’s just the ball of her foot and he tries not to tense, waiting for the heel.

She twists her foot like she’s grinding out a cigarette and then presses the heel to the back of his neck. Pete groans low and rough, the sound muted by the carpet. “So easy.”

He’s not sure if she means boys in general or him in particular, but he’s not about to argue. 

Especially because he’s fairly certain she could shift her weight and stab him through the throat. 

Especially because it’s true.

She moves and Pete groans again as she steps onto the floor next to him. Her heels click on the hardwood and she nudges his stomach. Pete rolls over obligingly and looks up at her, even though he can’t see a thing. He’s blinded in that instant as she pulls the string on the overhead light. Nothing is there in the bright flash except her shadow, hair hanging down as she looks at him.

She snaps the light off again and then her weight is on his stomach, heels digging into the tender flesh. Pete’s always been big on tight pants, but right now they’re excruciating given how hard his dick is. Taylor digs her heel in just above Pete’s navel, at the bottom of the bartskull tattoo and he can’t stop his hips from jerking up. 

He can tell Taylor starts to lose her balance and he starts to lift his arms to somehow catch her or steady her or something. It’s instinct, so he doesn’t have to apply logic, but it’s unnecessary because she shifts her feet, stepping back so that her heel is foot is on his dick, heel right at the base of his cock.

“Oh, fuck.” His hands fall back to the floor and scramble to find something to hold on to. He finally catches the edge of the rug his head is on. She steps off of him and he groans, hips canting up to follow the pressure. It’s back an instant later as she balances on one foot and presses the other against the length of his dick, leaning in and putting weight on it. Pete lifts his head and thumps it back on the carpet hard enough that he can feel the wood beneath it. “Oh god. Oh fuck.”

“You’re all the same.” The pressure changes and her foot moves down, catching the seam of his jeans and he can feel the heel against his balls. “Some of you beg for it. Some of you beg for it to stop. Well, you all beg for it to stop eventually.” She digs her heel in and Pete’s pretty sure he screams. Or blacks out. Or comes. 

Or maybe all three.

When he opens his eyes, the light’s on and Taylor is squatting down next to him. Her skirt is at her knees and, when he turns his head he can see her heels. “So’s not true then, huh?”

She tilts her head, brow furrowed. “What?”

Pete nods at her feet. “Sneakers.”

It takes her a minute and then she starts giggling. “That’s terrible.” She turns and settles on the floor next to him, legs stretched out. She glances back down at him, trying to suppress the laugh. “I mean, really terrible.”

Pete turns his head and presses his forehead against her thigh. “Set yourself up for it.”

“I did.” She gives up and starts laughing in earnest, lying down beside him and staring up at the ceiling. “I really did.” She glances over at him. “You lasted longer than I thought you would. Not as long as Mayer. Twice as long as Styles.”

“What about Jonas?”

Taylor shakes her head. “Nah. I was nice to him.”

“Mmm.” Pete laughs and closes his eyes. “You were very nice to me.”

“You and I should write a song.”

“Yeah?”

“Or maybe I should write a song about it.”

“That seems more likely. Writing works better with Patrick.” He cracks open an eye to look at her. “And don’t ask. He won’t go for the threesome. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“Ah, but you’re not me.”

“That is very true.” Pete closes his eye again. “When I get feeling back in my balls it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

Taylor laughs. “Yeah. It really is.”


End file.
